Page 129 of Crazy In Love
“Proud of you, sis. And everyone in town is talking about the renovation at Bridger’s home. Things are really happening for you,” Jacoby said, and when Emilia glanced up at me, I winked at her.
She was a fucking rock star. It was about time they all acknowledged it.
I’d taken her out for a nice dinner the day they’d announced she’d won the window competition, because I’d sure as fuck celebrate every single accomplishment of hers. She was beyond talented, and she deserved to be praised.
“I’m just glad you’re done with the project at Bridger’s home so you can get back to your real job. I noticed the payroll was higher, as you increased Beatrice’s hours and brought on Monique Whitfield for a lot of holiday hours,” Margaret said, and I was surprised she’d talk business and money at the dinner table.
“I figured you would just cut my salary back for the month,” Emilia said, as if it were perfectly okay for her mother to cut her pay when she was still overseeing everything at the flower shop during the time when she was working at my house.
“Dad didn’t think that was fair.” Her mother shrugged, not hiding her irritation with her husband.
“Well, she was still in there every day for several hours, and she still had to do all the ordering and oversee operations. She put in a lot of hours between the two places,” Bart said, glancing over at me. “You’re a businessman, Bridger. What are your thoughts on that?”
“I think you’re lucky that she works for a salary and doesn’t demand ownership, when she runs the entire operation. So cutting her salary seems like a good way to lose a star employee. I guess you have to ask yourself if you’re ready to lose her.” I forked some pasta and popped it in my mouth.
Emilia’s hand found my thigh beneath the table, and she squeezed it hard. I glanced over at her, and she gave me that look. Like I’d said too much. But I didn’t fucking care. Her mother was taking advantage. Hell, I think even her father was aware of it.
“I agree,” Jacoby said as he set his wine glass down. “The fact that I have twenty percent ownership while she has none, it doesn’t make sense.”
“What? You have ownership in the business?” Emilia asked, staring at her brother.
“He does all the books,” Margaret said, as if it wasn’t a slap in the face that Emilia was just finding out that even her brother had partial ownership of the business that she’d dedicated years of her life to.
Emilia turned to look at me, and I wanted to lose my shit, because the pain I saw in her eyes nearly undid me.
And then she turned to her mother, her bottom lip trembling. “Why do you hate me so much?”
The table grew quiet, and Shana and Jacoby looked at one another as if they weren’t shocked that she was asking the question.
“What is with the theatrics tonight, Emilia? Of course I don’t hate you,” Margaret said. “I’m trying to teach you how to survive in the world. It’s called tough love.”
“It’s not tough love, Mom. I’ve never given you reason to be tough on me. I’ve followed the rules my entire life. And all I’ve ever wanted was your approval. But it’s never going to happen, is it?” She swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks, and I couldn’t take one more second of this.
My chair skidded against the dark wood floors as I pushed to my feet. I tossed my napkin on the table and reached for Emilia’s hand. “Let me take you home, angel.”
Her mother gaped at me. “We haven’t finished dinner.”
Emilia took my hand and stood. “I’m done, Mom.”
“You’re done? What does that even mean?
“It means I won’t be mistreated by you any longer.”
“Oh, so you’re dating a rich man and now you think you’re better than us?” Margaret hissed. “A man who everyone knowswill never settle down with you. But you just live with your head in the clouds, like you always have.”
What the fuck?
I turned around, looking right at Emilia’s mother, trying to keep my temper in check. “You’re basing your opinion of me off of a ridiculous article in ‘The Taylor Tea,’ a bullshit column that you promote. Hell, you probably wrote that shit about me yourself.”
Yes, an article had appeared this week that clearly referenced my relationship with Emilia and how everyone in town worried for her because apparently, I was a cold-hearted playboy who’d break her heart.
“You may not like what’s written in that column, Bridger, but if you really think about it, nothing that’s been written isn’t true. You just don’t like that everyone in town knows how this will play out.”
“You know nothing about me or my family. And clearly you know nothing about your own daughter,” I said, working hard to keep my voice calm.
Because as much as I despised this woman at the moment, there was truth in her words.
When Emilia had told me that she loved me, I’d wanted to say it back.
